


wreckage and death

by TsukiDragneel



Series: Alternate World War Two [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Germany won WWII, London, Poor England (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsukiDragneel/pseuds/TsukiDragneel





	wreckage and death

The year is 1942. Crimson swastika flags fly above a bombed-out city, the air thick with smog. Glass lines the streets, old signs swaying gently in the faint wind.

The world seems more black and white than anything else, much like a photograph.

Strange to think that just one year ago, London was a thriving, bustling city. Now, all its residents know is terror and death.

The German high command strides down the street, surveying the once-proud city with distain. They pass citizens staring owl-eyed out of shattered windows, past children clinging to bodies in the gutters.

Buckingham Palace, or rather, what's left of it, looms ahead. Craters pocket-mark the streets, and the Germans stride easily around them.

They have business to attend to, after all.

Prime Minister Winston Churchill stands before the gates of the palace, a blond man standing by his side. Both have dust caked into their hair, and power covering their faces.

"England."

A blond man with slicked-back hair steps out of the group, eying the other with distain.

"Germany."

England regards him cooly, green eyes glazed over with pain. He runs a hand through his hair, brushing out a bit of the dust and returning his hair to a pale yellow.

Besides the Germans, England seems to be the only color in the decimated city.

"You are looking well." England states, every bit the proper gentleman.

"As are you." 

It's such a blatantly false statement that, at another time, would be funny.

And yet, there is no room for humor in this situation.

"Are you ready to discuss your unconditional surrender?" Germany smiles, ice-blue eyes glinting with vindictive pleasure.

A tear carves through the dust on England's cheek, landing with a soft 'plick' on the ground. 

The city is quiet, aside from the gentle rustling of dust-covered trees. As England surveys the wrecked earth around him, the bodies lying prone on the streets, dried red blood caking the sides of buildings, he has to acknowledge his worst nightmare.

_Britain cannot fight anymore._

His hand clenches into a fist, more tears carving a path through white powder. Germany taps his toe impatiently, causing a small cloud of dust to fly up where he does.

"Arthur... it's alright."

Churchill smiles sadly, placing a consoling hand on England's shoulder. "We did our best, and that's all anyone can ask for."

"W-Winston..."

England rubs at his face with his jacket sleeve, powder-coated grey only succeeding in irritating his eyes. "I'm sorry..."

"I am too, Arthur."

Churchill pulls him into a momentary hug, before releasing him with a pat on the head. "We tried our best."

"Yes... we did."

He finds he can return the smile, eyes alighting on a single dust-covered Union Jack flying in the distance.

_I'm so sorry..._

"We do not have all day," Germany snaps.

England sighs, raking a hand through his hair. As he stares at the Union Jack, blue, red, and white spots of color amidst the nothingness, he manages to choke out the one word that will seal his nation's fate.

"Yes."


End file.
